(No Subject)

By Chie Theresa Fujioka

How many words to desribe the ineffable? How many tears to feel the unfindable? When time leaves me standing with arm outstretched, wilted rejected rose in hand,

we get to feel like idiot prose:

Spouting out the lyrics of our mind,lost in misery and fortunate enough not to have logical rythym or pattern. Chaos is a friend to the lonely, the calendar the enemy as its clamour hammers on ones head like a woodpecker who mistakenly took your hard skull for a block of wood. knock on wood. If we happen to eat the forbidden fruit, why does it take years to force ourselves to admit we don't want it... exactly. Becase it so happens that wigs went out of style a long time ago, and as much as you want to eat acrylic nylon, cotton is the fabric of our lives. If for example we said that fate was simply deus ex machina in a book, are we denying that weird coincidental occrence that might save your life? And if you did decide that taking risks reeked of stale and rotting grass, would you be wrong not to follow your dream? If your dreams jumped off a cliff, would you? If it "coincidentally" makes sense, is it only make believe>? WHat makes us believe so fervently that there must be a catch. why are people so paranoid? I found a free lunch nsitting in the middle of the road on day. in my mailbox. it was not sat upon. it tasted good and i ate it. I have found many free lunches in my mailbox. yet whoever on that dollar bill who claimed he invented pants and desired that i write messages on more dollar blls obviosly desired to expand his view past the limitations of money through money. what is so wrong with expanding your life?

If someone can logically mush that thought pile into some antichaos, id be rather gratefl. maybe.

but i think that there are people out there who like aged wine and wilted flowers for the sake of the bearer. and that makes it all seem like the trade of cuban cigars.

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